Unwelcome
by Paige242
Summary: A simple question prompts an unwelcome memory from Wil's past... ("Have you ever had short hair?" Eretria asked innocently. The smile instantly faded from Wil's face. "Once." He replied as he pulled a few pieces forward to cover his ears.)


Eretria let out a small sigh as they lay on the woollen picnic blanket. It was a clam and sunny afternoon, and Wil smiled as his girlfriend's fingers mindlessly began to brush against his shoulder-length blonde locks.

"Have you ever had short hair?" She asked innocently.

The smile instantly faded from his face .

"Once." He replied as he pulled a few pieces forward to cover his ears.

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 _Fifteen years earlier…_

As soon as the cottage door was safely shut and bolted, Wil finally allowed himself to take a deep breath. His heart was racing and his body ached, but the ten year old was grateful for the safety and security of these four walls.

This wasn't the first time the village children had chased him through the streets—he had become accustomed to their aggressive taunts at a very early age and this was nothing unexpected. Although a few of the boys had decided to throw stones this time. That had, unfortunately, been a new development. Thankfully most had missed but as he looked down at his throbbing arm he could see at least one purple bruise forming.

Touching the aching spot gingerly, Wil felt the prickle of unwanted tears behind his eyes but he forced himself not to let the moment overwhelm him.

He had been through this before, and he would go through this again.

He was different.

He was hated…

As tempting as it was to run sobbing into his mother's arms, he knew that he had to be strong. She worried about him so much already and telling her what had happened would just bring her sadness and stress. She had enough burdens to deal with as it was—with his father, and the harvest, and the daily grind of life in the Vale. Wil did not want to worry her with the squabbles of petty children.

This wasn't her fight.

Drawing another deep breath, the boy resolutely squared his shoulders and took a shaky step away from the door.

Luckily, he was pretty sure that his mother and his uncle were at the market that afternoon, and he would have time to nurse his wounds and recover from the ordeal before they had time to question him.

Before he could take more than a few steps, however, the sound of a faint cough from the other room sent a shiver of fear through his body.

Apparently he wasn't alone after all, and his first thought was that one of his attackers had actually been daring enough to sneak into the house to terrorize him further. As he bravely rounded the corner, however, he realized that this was not the case.

Although Wil was happy that he wouldn't have to fight, the sight that met him was not wholly welcomed either.

His father was home.

For the first time in weeks.

And the man slowly looked towards him as he entered the small room.

"Wil." He said, his blue eyes somewhat unfocused and a flask gripped firmly in his hand. "I was wondering where you were."

The boy bitterly thought about giving the same reply. They had been wondering where Shea was for weeks, and he had heard his mother sob herself to sleep on more than one occasion. But, thinking better of it, he simply offered his father a weak smile.

"Just off to my room." He muttered, hoping that the man would let him scurry away without much discussion. Wil had not had many pleasant encounters with the older elf and one never knew what state the man was in. He was usually inebriated, often incoherent, and sometimes filled with rage.

It had already been a pretty terrible day, and Wil was in no mood for the ramblings of a drunk.

Unfortunately, his quick escape did not go as planned.

"No." Shea stated firmly, rising up from his chair and taking a few unsteady steps towards him. "Stay."

As much as he wanted to flee, Wil felt as if he had little choice. The man may have been a bit shaky, but his voice was firm and there was a flash in his eyes that made the boy think that he would not take no for an answer.

Reluctantly, the ten year old moved further into the room and watched warily as his father sat back down on the wicker chair.

There was a tense pause before the man spoke again.

"Come closer, son. Let me take a good look at you."

He could see his father eying the bruises on his arms and, sure enough, Shea took his wrist as soon as he was close enough to reach. After examining the wounds for a second, he looked back up at his son.

"Those boys shouting, outside." He began, looking into Wil's eyes. "They did this to you?"

It didn't seem like there was any use denying it, so Wil simply nodded.

An odd expression flashed across his father's face. The boy wasn't sure if it was anger, pity, or perhaps both—but, for a second, Wil felt as if he had an unexpectedly sympathetic supporter.

It was an odd concept for him to absorb. His father had never been there for him. Not when he was hurt, or sick, or alone. He was smart enough to know that this would never really change. But even the smallest flash of compassion meant something to him.

Deep down, on some level, this man probably cared.

Perhaps he could even relate…

"Why?"

It was a simple question, but Wil felt his mouth open and close wordlessly as he searched for an appropriate response. On the one hand, he thought that it should have been obvious—especially to his father. He didn't know much about the man's life, but he knew that he had grown up surrounded by humans too.

The boys often chased Wil through the streets with calls of "elf" and "freak." In their eyes, he was nothing like them and they judged him harshly for things that were out of his control. It was reasonable to think that his father had once been through the same.

But, unfortunately, the man's expression was unreadable and Wil felt like he had to summon a response.

"Because I'm…different." He replied, his voice much softer than intended. He wanted to give a confidant response—to stare this man in the face and make him realize that he was the reason his son was condemned to fear and isolation. He wanted to tell him that elves and humans were never meant to be, and that no Halfling could live a happy life.

But, much to his disappointment, he didn't seem to have the courage to say all that he wanted.

Wil watched, silently, as the man slowly nodded. "They hate elves." Shea said, his words more a statement than a question.

The boy nodded back.

"But the more important question is: do _you_ hate elves?"

Brow furrowing in confusion, Wil found himself at a loss for words once again. What did that matter? He wasn't the one bullying anyone or beating anybody up. Besides, he hated how quickly others judged him and he was hardly going to condemn an entire race of people. Unlike his peers, he knew better than that.

But, on the other hand, his father's question stirred up more negative feelings than he would have expected.

He had grown up hearing about how the elves had torn people from their lands, and the only elf he had ever met was his own father. As much as he wanted to love the man, Shea had made that very difficult over the years. He was rarely there and, when he was, he was often angry and drunk. It wasn't fair to judge an entire group based on one person…but Wil had to admit that the thought of elves did not fill him with warm or fuzzy feelings.

Quite the opposite, actually.

And that, admittedly, was why he had always tried not to think too much about his own place in all of these matters. Sure, the other boys saw him as an elf, worthy of their loathing. But that wasn't how Wil saw himself.

He lived his life as a human, he had been raised by humans. The face that starred back at him in the mirror may have looked uncomfortably elven, but he had always done his best not to dwell on that.

Wil didn't want to be anything like his father. All he had ever wanted was to fit in. To live a peaceful life. And if there had been a way to remove his pointed ears and graceful features, he would have done it ages ago.

He hated what he was…

"I…I don't hate anyone." Wil stated, finally mustering a reply that he hoped would placate his father. Perhaps that wasn't exactly the truth, but it was easier to keep things simple. All he wanted right now was to escape to the darkness and privacy of his own room, and he was willing to say whatever it took to get there.

Much to his relief, his father finally let go of his arm and Wil quietly let out a sigh of relief. Before he had a chance to back away, however, his father reached up and pulled the woolly cap off of his head and tossed it down onto the floor, dangerously close to the roaring fire. Annoyed, and feeling exposed, Wil instinctively reached up and brushed his shoulder length blonde hair over his ears, covering them up as well as he could.

He only ever took off his hat to wash, and he had learned early on that it was not wise for him to venture anywhere uncovered. Without it, he suddenly felt naked and unsettled and he looked longingly towards the small heap of grey fabric.

If he hadn't been so intimidated by his father, he would have lunged for it already. Whenever the village boys tore it off him, he made sure to get it back on as soon as possible. But he was alone in the house with an unpredictable man and he decided it was best not to take any risks.

"You hide yourself, Wil." His father said, reaching out towards his son. For a moment, his hand simply hovered near his cheek before moving to brush the boy's hair back behind his unmistakably pointed ears. "That is the true problem here. If you were proud, as you should be, they would know to leave you alone."

Despite himself, Wil scoffed. "Leave me alone?" He muttered, raising a skeptical brow. "In case you didn't realize, humans _hate_ elves. No matter what I do or what I say, all they care about is my stupid ears. I thought you, of all people, might get that! You grew up here. You must know what humans are like!"

He watched his father's jaw set with determination, and the man gave a resolute shake of his head.

"No." He stated frankly, his face etched with a sudden determination. "I didn't let them treat me like this and I certainly never hid. You need to learn how to do the same."

A wave of frustration rushed over him and Wil let out another loud noise of annoyance. He could hardly believe that this conversation was happening, and he certainly couldn't believe that his dad was implying that any of this was his fault.

"All of this is out of my control!" The boy protested, unable to hold back his growing anger. " _You're_ the reason I'm like this, and _they're_ the reason that I have to hide."

There was a brief pause, and Wil expected his father to shout something back. But, much to his surprise, the man simply smiled.

Wil starred at him, feeling increasingly unsettled. He watched as the man pulled his flask from his pocket and took a deep drink, a sudden twinkle of excitement in his eyes.

"Oh Wil." Shea began, placing a firm hand on his shoulder as he once again stood up from his chair excitedly. "If only you knew who you were. How special. How powerful! If you were in Aborlon, you would never want to hide. Our people would be in awe of my handsome young prince." He paused, his eyes widening with excitement. "I will take you there— to Aborlon. Tonight! There is so much you must learn…but first things first!"

Wil snorted, unimpressed by the raving of this madman.

"I won't belong in Aborlon either." He muttered, knowing that the man would probably never be taking him there, no matter what he said. "And I'm not sure why I should be so proud."

Rather than acknowledge his statement, however, his father gently guided him towards the chair and forced him to sit. There was still an oddly gleeful expression on his face, and Wil watched warily as Shea shuffled through a nearby chest.

The boy's heart was beating rapidly once again and Wil wished that he could run.

He had no idea what was going on, or why his father's mood had switched from serious to gleeful so quickly.

Though he supposed it had something to do with the smell of whiskey on his breath…

"Ah ha!"

His father let out a loud exclamation and, before Wil could figure out exactly what was going on, the man was at his side with a pair of sharp scissors grasped firmly in his hand.

"What—" Wil jolted in his seat and began to question the elf, but he was quickly inturrupted.

"I don't want to hurt you, Wil." His father said, still grinning. "Just stay still."

The last thing the boy wanted to do in that moment was stay still, but being inches from his unstable father and a sharp implement forced him to stay glued to his seat. He still had no idea what his father intended to do, and he did his best not to think of the worst.

Crazy as the man was, he wouldn't truly hurt him…right?

Wil wished that he believed his own reassurances.

A moment later, however, everything became clear.

He heard the snipping of the scissors and he watched as locks of wavy blonde hair began to fall to the floor.

Wil's heart sank. Yes, the situation could have been worse, but he suddenly knew what his father was doing—and it wasn't good…

The man was taking away his hair. His final shield. Wil wanted to scream and protest that this was not what he wanted.

But he was too afraid.

As much as he hated to admit it, deep down, the man had always scared him. He had seen him go from happy to enraged far too many times to think that his attempt to escape would end well.

His father was drunk. And his father could hurt him.

"There won't be any hiding anymore, Wil." Shea declared happily as he continued his task. "You won't want to hide once we're in Aborlon, anyway. I'll introduce you to the king, and the court. They'll tell you everything. You'll be proud of what you are."

Wil felt a lump building in his throat as he continued to watch strands of hair flitter to the ground. He could only imagine how ridiculous he looked now and he knew that there would be no hiding his ears anymore.

Perhaps later, once his father inevitably passed out, he would at least manage to get his hat back…

"Okay." Wil whispered, valiantly fighting back the tears that once again threatened to fall. He just wanted this to end.

His father could not have been more wrong. Wil wanted to hide now more than he ever had before.

"There!"

A few more heart wrenching moments later, his father allowed the scissors to drop to the floor with a clatter.

Letting out a shaky breath, Wil stood from his spot as calmly as he could manage and turned to face Shea with wide-eyed apprehension.

"You look like such a handsome young elf." The man said, beaming with an unexpected amount of pride. "I doubt anyone will even realize that you're a halfling."

Wil felt his cheeks (and ears) flush with embarrassment and he did his best to muster a nod.

"Now go pack your things, son." Shea continued, still oozing with enthusiasm. "We'll leave for Aborlon at sunset."

Realizing that he finally had a chance to get away, Wil nodded again quickly and scurried out of the room as fast as he could. There was no way that his mother and uncle would let his father take him anywhere and he knew that once he locked himself in his room he would be safe until they got home.

It would probably only be another couple of hours—and chances were his father would pass out sooner rather than later.

Breathing heavily, Wil launched himself into his tiny bedroom and firmly shut the door. Once the bolt was in place, he frantically began to shuffle through a nearby box, searching for a small hand mirror that he had once nestled away.

Wil wasn't fond of mirrors. He never had been.

But at that moment he was grateful that he had one near. As much as he didn't want to see, he knew that he had to and as soon as he felt the cool glass across his fingers, the boy pulled the item from the box and held it up in front of him.

The cut was surprisingly even but, as expected, it was so much shorter than he could ever remember having it before. For most, that would probably not be a big deal but Wil found himself fighting back a wave of nausea as he stared, open mouthed, at his reflection.

His father had been right about one thing. He did look like a young elf.

Wil's hair had always kept his pointed ears covered, and he knew (and hoped) that some might not even notice them at first glance. Now, however, there was no chance that he could pass for human—not even for a moment.

His hair was cropped so close to his head making his ears stand out even more than he expected. The rest of his face, too, suddenly seemed more angular in a way that was identifiably elven.

This was not the reflection of a human boy.

He looked more like his father than he ever had before.

And he _hated_ it.

With a cry of frustration and anger, Wil threw the small mirror across the room before launching himself into a nearby stack of pillows. Then, in the safety and darkness of his own locked room, he finally allowed the tears to flow down his cheeks.

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 _A/N—I know I've written similar things before, but I couldn't get this plot bunny out of my head. I love Wil angst. Reviews greatly appreciated!_


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